


Surgery

by Toejones



Series: Remembering [6]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: 1920s, Amputation, Avengers Family, Awesome Sam Wilson, Awkward Conversations, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Childhood, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Gen, Heart-to-Heart, Hospital Visit, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Medical Procedures, Mention of period-typical homophobia, Parent Death, Past Relationship(s), Past Torture, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-War, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Surgery, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Is Not a Medical Doctor, Tony Stark Is a Good Bro, angst and crying, mention of Howard Stark - Freeform, mention of Howling Commandos, mention of Peggy Carter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-02-09 06:02:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1971654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toejones/pseuds/Toejones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The room they had Bucky in was just as white as anything else in the hospital down to the flimsy curtains, but his blanket was a faded sea-foam green. Dark circles had formed under his eyes that morning before the surgery, and they looked even harsher under the awful lights.</p><p>“Mr. Barnes,” the doctor said, “You have a visitor.”</p><p>“What?” Bucky slurred, scrunching up his face. His eyes were unfocused when they finally blinked all the way open. “Oh heyyy,” he said softly when they landed on Steve. “Stevie!”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Surgery

Patience was a virtue Steve considered himself as having an excellent handle on. Natasha would disagree, he thought, especially today.

“You’re going to wear holes in the floor, Steve,” she muttered, not for the first time. Her eyes were piercing as she flicked them up to stare at him over the top of her magazine. Clint was snoozing next to her; his head had unceremoniously dropped onto her shoulder around an hour ago. The gentle snoring was bizarrely soothing to Steve, like one of the drone options on the white noise app Sam had downloaded for him. Not soothing enough to keep him in place, though.

“I can’t sit still,” he replied as he thought, welcoming the distraction from his methodical listing of everything that could go wrong inside his head. He glanced towards the big metal doors that separated sterile from non.

“You haven’t sat at all.”

Natasha’s lips quirked into a wry smile and she closed her magazine. There was a soft rustle as she stacked it on top of the pile on the side table. She sighed and put a hand on Clint’s stubbly face, gently pushing him to lean the other way. He grunted but didn’t wake, shifting so he was comfortable once his head was resting back against the wall. Natasha uncrossed her legs, leaning forward to put her elbows on her knees and her hands under her jaw.

“You know that James is going to be fine,” she said like it was that simple; like it was the only possibility.

“I don’t  _know_  that,” Steve insisted, feeling childish and cranky, but completely justified in it. He hadn’t slept a wink the previous night, and Bucky hadn’t either, though neither of them had wanted to admit to it. They’d lain in bed all night, silently staring off into the darkness of Tony’s guest room until JARVIS had opened the curtains and announced the start to their morning at 6:00.

He swallowed and turned away from Natasha to stare intently at an info graphic poster about handling grief on the wall.

 

_“We’d like to offer you some time to talk to one of our counselors about arrangements for you, just incase,” the nurse said in the voice Steve hated- the one adults reserved to save kids’ feelings. “He’ll also help you through the grieving process. Should you need it.”_

_“I don’ need it,” Steve snapped, unconsciously puffing himself up. “She’s gonna be fine.” Bucky’s hand was gentle and warm in his._

He turned away from the inappropriately colorful poster, feeling sick. He focused on the poster about diabetes behind Clint’s head, instead. Maybe not that one, either. He dropped his gaze to the offwhite tile floor.

“Steve,” Natasha was starting to sound pissy too, and he couldn’t blame her. He knew he’d been a bit of a handful all morning, and she’d flown down from DC with Clint and Sam specifically to support him today. He hadn’t had the nerve to ask if he’d cut plans short or if they were missing work. “This attitude doesn’t suit you. Sit down and take a nap with Clint, or something.”

“Even if everything goes perfectly,” Steve said, his syllables catching as a lump grew in his throat. Her attention was taken by that, her spine straightening and eyes hardening in something like alarm. “He’s going to walk out of there down a limb.”

“He’s already had it happen once. Besides, it's not permanent and worse things have happened to better people,” she said it dryly, her eyes still hard as diamonds on his face.  Her mouth was turning down at the corners.

 

_“Honey, I’m afraid I must insist,” the nurse said, kneeling on the hard floor. Her eyes were tired and her curled hair was frizzy. There were blood spots on the hem of her skirt and a run in her stockings visible beneath it. Her red stained mouth was turned down sympathetically._

_Steve jerked his chin away when she put a hand on his face._

_“She’s gonna be fine,” he whispered, trying desperately to believe himself._

_The nurse’s voice was gentle and calm, obviously used to dealing with children. Her eyes were kind and deep brown, like his mother’s. Her hand was cool and smooth when it brushed some of his hair out of his eyes.  “Sometimes, darling, bad things happen to good people. God works in myst-”_

_“That’s crap,” Bucky snapped, tugging Steve back from her. The nurse stood and Bucky’s head didn’t even come to her chest, but he looked up at her with confidence anyway. “God ain’t got nothin’ to do with this, lady!”_

 

“He’s a good person,” Steve managed through the tightness in his throat.

The conversation (argument) they often came close to starting, about The Soldier and Natasha’s time together and about how much of Bucky had been in The Soldier, remained unhad to the day. It seemed like it would continue on that way for now, but his eyes flickered briefly to her abdomen where the old bullet scar was.  He took a deep breath and forced himself to look her in the eye.

“He doesn’t deserve any of this.” Somehow he knew she’d agree with him on that, at least.

Green eyes softened as they stared back, but her voice was still hard. “You’re getting overly sentimental about this Steve. It’s surgery. You’ve had surgery, I’ve had surgery. Clint had surgery a couple weeks ago,” she paused to lift the bottom of Clint’s tanktop a bit, revealing a patch of gauze taped over a section of his abdomen.

“Well I-”

“I watched a man receive a field amputation with a garage saw, electrical tape, and scissors and live a full life afterward.” Her eye roll was legendarily put-upon as she smoothed Clint’s shirt back down. “His last amputation was done by an evil organization and they attached a deathtrap to him. This one should be a breeze in comparison. Should make things better, even.  Steve…” her voice finally wavered and softened on a sigh, “I’ve never seen you like this before.”

“Natasha-”

“And I don’t like it, so stop,” she said with finality, all softness gone. She leaned back and crossed her arms. He supposed he should be grateful for her trying to make him feel better, even if it wasn’t exactly working.

“I’m sorry for my attitude, but I already lost him once,” Steve said after a long pause, making sure he could speak. “I can’t lose him again, Natasha.”

“Can’t?” was her only reply, her expression unreadable. He set his jaw and looked away again, just in time to see Sam nudge open the door into the waiting room with his hip, juggling four cups of Starbucks in his hands.

“They ran out of drink carriers,” he explained without a greeting, kicking the door shut behind him. One look at Steve’s face was all it took to stop him in his tracks and fumble the coffees. “Oh shit,” he said, “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Natasha sighed, getting up and taking the two largest cups. “Steve’s letting himself get worked up again.”

“Man, you need to chill a little,” Sam nudged his shoulder into Steve’s. He passed off the smallest cup and Steve gripped it with both hands, thankful for the heat and caffeine both. “I don’t know if super-soldiers can get ulcers, but if they can, you’re well on your way. You know that Tony and those doctors are professionals, right?” he grinned as Steve took his first sip. Steve’s stress level immediately went down a touch with pleasant warmth blooming in his chest and stomach.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Maybe not Stark,” he added, lips still pressed to the opening in the plastic lid. Sam chuckled at that and took a few steps over to Clint.

“Hey, bird-brain,” he said, kicking at Clint’s ankle. Clint startled awake, immediately alert.

“Shit- fuck,” he said blearily, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. “Is Barnes okay?” He was starting to get up, a hand pressed to his stomach. Steve noticed another bandage he hadn’t before on the back of his hand.

“You boys, I swear,” Natasha muttered under her breath, pressing a cup into Clint’s hands. “He’s fine. Don't pull a stitch. Drink up. It’s your favorite.”

“My favorite is caffeinated,” Clint replied, voice still sleep-thick. He yawned and took a brave gulp without testing the temperature. “Mmm.” He scratched idly at the mysterious pink bandaid pressed to his forehead, looking at peace. Steve had learned not to ask about Clint’s bumps and bruises by now.

“You’re welcome,” Sam said to the room pointedly. There was an echoing murmur of thanks.

Natasha took back her seat and crossed her legs. She reopened the magazine on top of the stack and Clint leaned his head onto her shoulder to read it with her. The way she leaned her cheek against the top of his head would be met with a challenging glare if mentioned later, but Steve thought it was a nice picture to look at. Soothing.

Nervous energy was still buzzing through Steve’s system despite the relative tranquility of his companions. The coffee was going to make it worse; Steve hadn’t gotten used to how much caffeine everyone in this century consumed, even with his faster metabolism. Sam seemed to sense it, reaching out to clap a hand to the back of his neck.

“Steve,” he said seriously, “Let’s take a walk.”

“Where?” Steve muttered, “Everything in this century is parking lots.” The need to escape to the outdoors was almost overwhelming, but he couldn’t bring himself to agree with anything at the moment.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Oh man, Nat wasn’t kidding. Let’s go get some fresh air, Captain Contrary.”

“It’s hot,” Steve said, another token protest. Sam just rolled his eyes again and steered him at the exit by the back of his neck.

 

_“It’s hot,” Steve muttered as he was dragged up to the roof of the hospital by the hand. The slightly bigger hand wrapped around his squeezed. Steve studied the scraped knuckles and bitten fingernails, refusing to look up in obstinacy._

_“Well we can’t go back until that lady cools it. She said she was gonna call my ma on me. A’sides, it smells like that stuff ma puts on owies in there,” he wrinkled his nose._

 

“Go easy on him, Tasha,” Steve heard Clint mumble before the door shut. “You know how much Barnes means to him.”

“Clint, their relationsh…” her reply was lost behind the clicking of the door as it shut.

Sam only released his neck when they were nearly all the way down the hall towards the elevator. Downstairs, the strange washed-out light of Florida spring made the entirely white building blinding after the windowless waiting room and Steve winced. Heat and humidity were overbearing outside, nothing like the heat Steve was used to at home. They’d been inside since the cool morning and he’d forgotten exactly how unforgiving May in Florida could be. He had to hand his coffee to Sam to strip off his sweater.

Sam took him around the hospital a few times on the sidewalk silently, still wearing a hoodie and occasionally sipping his (extra-hot, no whip) coffee despite the horrendous temperature outside. The scenery was bland; the Starbucks, a Wendy’s, some office buildings, some miscellaneous healthcare facilities and suppliers. They’d driven a couple of hours to Pensacola for a hospital with an open OR for Tony and his doctors to use, and the hospital was smack in the middle of the city. There were some palm trees and grass on the grounds, but the sound and smell of traffic from the street was too prominent for them to help much. Despite the heat and the busy city atmosphere, the sun was helping calm him down a little, and Sam’s company was helping keep his mind off Bucky. For the most part.

 

_He finally got Steve out the door with a more insistent tug that sent Steve stumbling into the steps up and bashing his shin. The sun was low in the sky. It was nearly dinner time. Bucky looked around, pleased, before rummaging in his pockets. He pulled out a folded up piece of paper and a red crayon._

_“Draw,” he said._

_“I’m not a artist,” Steve replied._

_“Yuh-huh, I saw you draw the cat yesterday!” he pressed them into Steve’s chest, making a little red mark with the unwrapped, broken crayon on Steve’s white shirt. “It’ll cheer you up, I promise!” he swore, pressing a little harder at Steve._

_“Fine,” Steve grumbled, snatching the crayon and paper. “Jerk. What should I draw?”_

_Bucky’s gap-toothed grin was bright as he scrambled into a sitting position on the step in front of the door. “Me!”_

_“You’re not green!”_

_“Stevie, that’s red.”_

_“Oh, ok. Are you red?”_

 

When they finally got too hot, Sam led Steve back into the cold, dry front room. He tossed their cups as Steve pulled his sweater back on and leveled a serious look his way. Steve regarded him carefully, starting to button his sweater up as Sam leaned against the corner by the elevators with a sigh.

“You’re kind of a mess,” he said out of nowhere. Steve’s eyebrows went up. “I know this is hard,” he continued. Steve believed him. “But you gotta believe that Bucky’s going to be fine. There’s no use working yourself up this much. You’re practically  _bleeding_  concern here, man.”

“That’s what they said when my mom was admitted to the hospital,” Steve blurted. He pressed his lips tight together. That wasn’t something he’d meant to unbury, but it had been on his mind all morning, mixing with and inspiring his worst-case scenario listings.

“Your mom?” Sam asked, eyebrows going up in interest. He peeled himself off the corner fluidly, jamming his hands in his cargo shorts’ pockets. “You never told me about her. I thought you grew up in an orphanage.”

Steve sighed heavily. “Never mind, Sam. I don’t want to talk about it.” Steve shouldered past him into the elevator.

“Oh, nuh-uh!” Sam was indignant, “You don’t just drop something like that on a brother and not elaborate,” he slid in next to Steve and pressed the button to close the doors.

Steve ignored him, not really wanting to get into this when he was already worrying after Bucky. A couple of the traits Steve admired in Sam were his infinite capacity to care and his determination, though, and they were shining through like the Florida sun today. With a pointedly blank glare, Sam reached back and slid his open palm down the buttons, purposefully skipping the third floor, staring Steve dead in the eyes.

“Are you serious?” Steve groaned.  He pressed his palm to his forehead.

“Deadly,” Sam replied, leaning back against the buttons and crossing his arms. “What’s this about your mom?”

The doors opened and shut on both floor 2 and 4 before he replied with a big sigh. “She died when I was six. My dad was already dead, so that’s how I ended up in the orphanage,” he spread his hands, only a little brusque.

“What’d she die of?” Sam asked. Steve ground his teeth.

“She worked in a TB ward,” he replied shortly. “Couldn’t escape it.”

“Ah,” Sam nodded, looking like he had the answer to a puzzle he’d been trying to solve for a long time. “So this is left over from the itty-bitty Steve days.”

“I guess. It’s mostly that I’m worried after Buck.” He shrugged, hoping it came across as natural. “The other stuff just adds to it, I think. Dredges up more reasons to be worried.” He decided not to mention how much time he’d spent in hospitals himself before the serum.

Sam seemed to understand. He shifted so he was leaning somewhere other than over the buttons as the elevator stopped again. They were at the top floor now, so Sam reached to press the 3 (and only the 3). The ride down was blissfully silent.

“You know,” Sam said, breaking the silence just before entering the waiting room. With a hand on Steve’s arm to keep him in place, he looked hesitant, which wasn’t something he looked very often. “The others don’t really seem to get that it’s only been a couple of years for you. Sometimes I don't, either and I'm sorry.”

“…What?” Steve asked, barely above a whisper. He couldn’t look away from where Sam’s eyes stared earnestly back at him.

“They can’t get past the seventy year sleep thing,” Sam continued. “You put on the bravest damn face Steve, and sometimes people forget that it hasn’t been seventy years for you. They forget that you’re out of your time and fresh from the stuff they heard about in history class. All we knew of you before we met you was from comic books that show you as an unbeatable, unbreakable super-soldier fighting Nazis and healing your body at the speed of lightning. But now I know you as a fellow soldier, a regular guy. A guy that had to watch his favorite person die and woke up with the rest of his friends already gone. I get that your mind ain’t gonna heal that fast,” Sam took a breath, “I get that. A childhood without parents is hard. War is hard. Losing people is hard. And I can’t even imagine getting frozen like you did.”

“I- Sam,” Steve choked. Sam’s face was becoming blurry and he fought the urge to turn around and hide somewhere by himself. Sam didn’t bat an eye though, and this would be far from the first time Sam had seen him cry. Steve felt a few tears fall before he wiped at his face with the sleeves of his sweater.

“You keep acting like you want Nat to get it, with her crazy-ass background, but she never had anything to lose until recently,” Sam continued. “She just doesn’t understand why you can’t lose him. None of them do.”

“Thank you,” he whispered. He sniffled loudly and managed to fight down a hiccup as he wiped furiously at his eyes again. “He’s all I have left of home. I don’t mean to be a pill, it’s just hard not to freak out a little.”

“Yeah, man, I know,” he patted Steve a couple times firmly on the back. “They’ll come around eventually, but in the meantime I’m always right here for you, man. Even if I don't always remember. Now go get a sip of water, big guy. We have to face Tony soon and that’s a ribbing I’d rather not witness,” he winked. Steve sniffed again and offered a watery smile as he nodded and turned to the water fountain.

 

_“Bucky,” Steve sobbed. The sun was going down, but the heat from the day lingered in the sticky tar on the roof behind them. “I don’t wanna go to a orphanage!”_

_“Hush, hush,” Bucky said gently, like Bucky’s ma did for the both of them sometimes, pulling Steve’s head close to his own._

_“I love my mama, Bucky,” Steve was nearly incoherent, rubbing at his eyes with tiny fists. The picture he’d drawn sat next to him, half-finished and forgotten. “Mama can’t die!”_

_Bucky was silent. Steve didn’t expect him to say anything. Meaningless words were for adults who didn’t care about one more orphan in New York. Bucky just held him close and let him cry into his t-shirt._

_“She’s my only family left,” Steve said a while later, sniffling and shaking as Bucky rubbed his back. “I don’ have a da. Who's gonna help me when I-” he coughed and it set off a chain reaction that left him gasping and choking and shuddering. The hand patting at his back, just a little bigger than his own, was constant and gentle as his breathing slowly came back into a normal pattern. Bucky’s eyes were wide, wet, and colorless in the dark when Steve finally had a hold of himself enough to look up._

_“You got me,” Bucky said quietly. “You always got me, Stevie. I promise. Please don’t cry.” He pet Steve’s head with a clammy hand, awkwardly smoothing his hair into some semblance of order._

_“I kn-kn-know,” Steve managed through his sobs and wheezes. His breath rattled as he gripped the sleeves of Bucky’s shirt and held him close, head buried in the crook of his neck._

_“I love you,” Bucky mumbled into his hair. “Please don’t cry.”_

 

He opened the door to find Tony in scrubs holding something metal in Clint’s face. Clint was making a face, pressed back as far in his chair as he could go. Natasha was unfazed, her magazine laying open face-down in her lap. She was watching the two boys with cool disinterest, but looked up when the door clicked closed.

Her brow furrowed at him and he looked away sheepishly, wiping his thumbs under his puffy eyes once for good measure. He glanced back to see her looking away almost guiltily. Tony must have seen her move, or heard Sam come in, because he turned his head over his shoulder, straining to see. At the sight of Steve, he beamed and wheeled around.

“Steven, my dear!” he said. He looked tired despite the grin on his face. From the years he’d spent with nurses, Steve knew where to look to spot the little flecks of blood on Tony’s neck and ears from where he’d failed to wipe them off in his cleanup. His scrubs were pristine, though, surprisingly. Steve swallowed, thinking he must have had to change and wondering why.

“Tony,” he cleared his throat when the word came out thickly and said it again.

“Look, it’s part of your guy’s shoulder!” he exclaimed, waving the chunk of metal around. “Sterilized!” he added when Steve’s face dropped in horror.

“Is he okay?” Steve asked, instead of inspecting the piece. Tony nodded, his huge grin replaced by a weary smile.

“He’s done and sleeping off the anesthesia,” he said. “It takes a crapload to knock you super guys out, you know.”

“I do know,” Steve said, suddenly beaming. He was itching to see Bucky, to have some solid proof that he was alive and well.

“When can we see him?” Sam asked for him, shouldering past Steve to stare at Tony and the chunk of metal.

“That’s not up to me,” Tony shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck. He yawned next and rolled his shoulders. “The head surgeon should be out here soon, after he finishes washing up. I’m going to go back and collect all the, uh,” he searched for his words, waving the metal around, “bits.”

He turned to leave but Steve caught his shoulder. “Thank you,” he said, only able to get his voice just above a whisper. Tony’s eyes went all soft like he’d never admit to and he nodded, clapping Steve on the shoulder. They stayed like that a moment.

“Well,” Tony cleared his throat and stepped away. “I’m sure you’re eager to see your guy, so I’m going to go.” He pointed to the door and slipped through it without another word from anyone.

\--

The room they had Bucky in was just as white as anything else in the hospital down to the flimsy curtains, but his blanket was a faded sea-foam green. Dark circles had formed under his eyes that morning, and they looked even harsher under the awful lights. Eyelashes blissfully sat against his cheekbones, though, and his mouth hung just a little open, making him look less brittle and more like himself. Steve was pointedly not looking at the shape of limbs beneath the blankets.

“Mr. Barnes,” the doctor said, his accent thick. Tony had flown him in from New Mexico, but he sounded German to Steve. “You have a visitor.” He rapped his knuckles against the door three times, and that was ultimately what made Bucky’s eyes open slowly.

“What?” he slurred, scrunching up his face. He winced at the lights and licked his lips. His eyes were unfocused when they finally blinked all the way open. “Oh heyyy,” he said softly when they landed on Steve. “Stevie!”

“He’ll be like that for a little while,” the doctor said lowly, “We had to dose him six times the normal amount of anesthetic we’d use for someone twice his weight and he’s on a cocktail of painkillers that could kill an eighties rock band twice over,” he chuckled. “He can have clear fluids, but no solids yet. He can’t visit for too long tonight, but due to his accelerated rate of healing, we imagine he can go home in just a day or two. Call if you need anything.” With that and a smile, he left Steve to it.

“Hey pal!” Steve couldn’t keep the grin off his face when Bucky was smiling sloppily at him, looking like he did when he was so drunk he couldn’t stand, back before he knew his limits in the late 30’s.

“What’ssup, punk?” Bucky muttered, shifting a little under the blankets but making no move to sit up. Steve grabbed a chair off the wall and dragged it over, settling into it so his knees barely had room before they hit the bed.

“Not much. How’re you feeling?”

“I feel okay… kinda weird,” Bucky said, scrunching his nose again. He moved to sit up, wrestling his arm from the blankets, but immediately fell back down. His face started to edge into panic for a second before he seemed to remember where he was. “My arm,” was all he said, somewhere between confused and sad.

“Yeah, buddy,” Steve sighed, leaning forward and crossing his arms on the guardrail. He put his chin on the bar. “Still feelin’ ok?”

“Yeeeaah,” Bucky sighed loftily with a grimace. He managed to sit himself up a little with his right arm and legs, scooting up into his pillows. Steve grabbed them when he was up and adjusted them better for sitting. He ran a hand through Bucky’s hair, pushing it out of his eyes.

“The others wanna see you, too,” Steve said after a minute of just staring at him with his chin on the rail. Bucky’s eyes lit up, but his head was slower to respond, tilting sluggishly to the side.

“Other who?” he asked, squinting.

“Our friends came to see you.” Natasha, Clint, and Sam were supposed to be a surprise for him.

“All our friends are dead,” Bucky said, sounding petulant. His head stayed where it was at an angle and he pouted. Steve fought the urge to cry. Once a day was enough.

“Noo, no they’re not,” Steve insisted. “Come on in, guys!” he said a little louder, forcing a grin when Bucky’s eyes flicked to the door.

It was less than a second before the door was slammed open by a beaming Clint. Natasha and Sam weren’t far behind, and they both had their hands behind their backs. A balloon hit the doorframe as they entered.

“Barnes!” Clint crowed, coming over and affectionately ruffling his hair. “How’s the second best marksman in the world today?”

“Wearing a stupid pink bandaid,” Bucky said, his arm coming up gingerly so he could tap at his forehead. His lips quirked up and his head righted itself.

“Oh, dude!” Clint pressed a hand to his chest and shook his head. “You wound me.”

“How’s it hangin’, man?” Sam asked, sliding up around the other side of the bed, nudging Clint towards the foot. There was a rustle as he pulled a bag out from behind his back and set it on the bedside table. It was thankfully not from the gift shop downstairs, which was full of hideous stuffed animals and other sad gifts. All it was was three bottles of apple juice and one bottle of coke. “You can’t actually have a smoothie right now like I wanted to get you, but Steve said you like coke and apples,” he explained.

Bucky smiled dazedly. “Thanks,” he said. “I do like those.”

“Aaaand I win,” Natasha said with a sly smile, presenting the balloon. It was a big rainbow that said ‘GET WELL SOON’ on it in a hideous font. She tied it to the bed rail so it was just a few inches from the ceiling and then leaned down to kiss Bucky’s temple.

“She’s wins,” Bucky agreed with a silly smile.

“I was asleep when they went to Walgreens,” Clint muttered bitterly. “They abandoned me!”

“Just the fact that you think you’re a better shot cheers me up,” Bucky said. Clint, Sam, and Steve burst into laughter at that, and Natasha’s shoulders shook as she chuckled.

“You started the party without me!” Tony exclaimed from the doorway. He’d changed back into a band t-shirt and jeans, all trace that he’d just performed surgery a couple hours ago gone. There was an energy drink clutched in his hand.

“Hi!” Bucky said.

“Hey there, Frostbite,” Tony came over and joined Steve on his side across from Sam and Natasha. “How’s everything feeling?” He pressed a hand to his forehead for a moment.

“Fuzzy,” Bucky shrugged clumsily, his left shoulder jumping too high. “Good, though.”

“Awesome! From what I hear, your guy over here had himself worked into quite the tizzy over you,” he winked at Steve. Steve felt indignant, but he couldn’t seem to stop smiling, so it came out bashful, his cheeks warming.

“It wasn’t a tizzy,” he protested weakly.

“Please,” Bucky scoffed. “When we were little and I got the flu you cried for three days thinking I was gonna die.” The look he was giving Steve, despite being too-smoothed out around the edges, was all Bucky. It was fond and warm to a degree that should have been embarrassing, and just teasing enough to make it not so.

“Okay, I’m a worrier,” he admitted with a shrug. “I can’t help it!”

Bucky stared at him, starting with a smile that slowly faded to a thoughtful frown.

 

_“I can feel you worryin’,” Bucky’s knee jabbed at the back of Steve’s thigh. “You’re making me awake.”_

_“Hey!” Steve mumbled, reaching back to push Bucky’s knobby knee away. His skin felt sticky in the heat but he didn’t have room to move away on the narrow couch cushion._

_“You worry a lot,” Bucky whispered. He curled tight around Steve, his arm around his middle. Steve’s crooked spine rubbed against the ridges of Bucky’s ribs, and it wasn’t very comfortable._

_“I can’ help it,” Steve whispered back. “Mama says I get it from my Dadaí,” Steve stumbled over the Irish word he hadn’t used in a while. It made his mother sad to hear him use it. “She says that he startin’ losin’ hair when I got here,” they both giggled quietly at that, aware of Bucky’s ma, who was already upset they’d been late coming home, in the other room asleep._

_“I like your mom,” Bucky said softly, his eyelashes and breath tickling the back of Steve’s neck. Steve rolled clumsily so he could look at Bucky._

_“I like my mama, too,” he said, some leftover accent sticking to his words from using it after too long trying not to. “I hope she’s okay.”_

_Bucky sighed. He scooted closer to Steve, gracelessly trying to hug him again. Steve let him._

_“I wanna sleep now, pal,” Bucky mumbled. “Don’t worry no more tonight.”_

_“Okay,” Steve said, closing his eyes immediately. There was a tiny, dry pressure on his damp forehead where Bucky leaned forward to kiss Steve’s head._

_“Since your mama can’t,” he explained._

_“Nigh’ Bucky,” Steve replied with a grin, squeezing his arms around Bucky._

_“Night, Stevie.”_

 

Bucky ‘s stare lasted long enough that Sam and Clint began to shift uncomfortably. Steve swallowed.

“Alright?” he asked. Bucky’s head twitched, like he meant to nod, but he settled for another uneven shrug. 

“I wanna sleep now, pal,” he muttered. His shoulders were sagging deep into his pillows and without the innocence of sleep or a smile, his face looked sallow. His eyes were slipping down and to the left with increasing frequency.

“Alright,” Steve took a deep breath, trying not to worry again just yet. “C’mon, guys,” he gestured for everyone to follow him out. They did, offering goodbyes on their way past the bed. He held the door, letting Natasha through first. She rubbed his uninjured shoulder in passing and Clint patted the same spot as he followed. Tony simply smiled tritely, and Sam clapped his arm. Steve was about to pull the door shut behind him when Bucky made a strangled noise from the bed.

“Steve, wait,” he said.

“Buck?”

“Stay with me?” his head was slowly leaning towards his left like he couldn’t control it and Steve wondered if he noticed.

“I don’t think the doctors want me spending the night,” Steve replied.

“Nooo, just a nap,” Bucky said. He lifted his arm weakly and let it fall back down. “C’moooon, Stevie. You’re Captain fuckin’ America, they won’t make you leave and I don’t feel good.”

“When you put it that way,” Steve sighed with a small smile. He poked his head out the door and gestured for the rest of them to go on. “Leave me a car,” he said. Tony threw a set of keys in his general direction without warning. Steve caught them with a little lean to the right.

“Parking garage, level 3, spot D14. It’s the red one,” he said. “Tell your guy to feel better, alright?”

“Alright,” Steve agreed, waving. The rest of everyone waved too, muttering farewells. They were no doubt ready for dinner after hanging around a hospital all day.

Steve came back in and made to sit back in his chair when Bucky reached across the bed, doing a half roll to grab Steve’s wrist, barely catching it before the IV pulled. He tugged weakly with a determined set to his jaw, giving Steve the impression that he was using all of what strength he was in possession of.

“Snuggle me,” Bucky demanded.

“Never once have you ever used that word before,” Steve couldn’t help the snort that came out.

“But that’s what I want,” Bucky insisted, tugging again. “And that’s what it is.”

“True, but you  _never_  call it snuggling,” Steve teased. He threw a leg over the rail anyway, using the bar to support his weight as he clambered in. The connections and IV were all to Bucky’s right, so Bucky only had to shuffle a little to the side for Steve to wedge himself in. “You call it ‘come here Rogers’ and that’s about it.”

“C’mere, Rogers,” Bucky sighed, rolling into Steve and putting his face on his shoulder without hesitation.

“I don’t think this bed is made for two big guys,” he said. Bucky sent him a pointed look and squeezed him.

There was no arm to trap underneath, and it was strange not to have it in the way. Steve hadn’t looked to see how much was there. It didn’t feel like he was crushing anything that was healing, and he didn’t think he wanted to know the answer quite yet, so he remained content with his level of knowledge. He wedged his own arm under and around Bucky’s shoulders to hold him close and wriggled until he could pull his phone out from where it was jabbing him in his back pocket. There was a missed call and a voicemail from Jane (and Darcy and Thor, probably), two texts from Pepper, one from Tony, and another couple from Bruce, but he tossed it to the side and used his free hand to push the hair out of Bucky’s eyes.

“Doctor Vossen said you can come home soon,” he said to fill the quiet after they were settled, pressing his cheek to the top of Bucky head. His hand continued combing through Bucky’s hair. Bucky only hummed in reply, burrowing deeply into Steve’s shoulder and clutching at his shirt. “You heal almost as fast as me and there’s only a little bit of stuff to heal, since it wasn’t a full amputation,” he added. Bucky nodded weakly against his chest.

“Hey, Steve,” he mumbled into Steve’s shoulder. He blearily looked up at him for a moment, his eyes a strange shade of blue under the fluorescents before they fluttered shut again.

“Yeah?”

“Night.”

“Night, Bucky,” he wanted to lean down and press a kiss to his head, but he didn’t.

\--

It was almost twelve-thirty before Steve made it back to the hotel suite he was sharing with Sam and Tony. Steve had fallen asleep and missed the call for visiting hours, leading to a very embarrassing wake-up call from a nurse coming to check on Bucky’s IV and catheter. The staff had had to unlock the front doors for him to get out.

He flicked the couchside table light on and tossed his keys, wallet, and phone down. He was pulling his sweater off when Tony said “Hey, soldier,” from the other side of the room.

Steve looked up, a little surprised. “Oh, hi. You’re up late.” Tony had a tablet and a glass of scotch in his hands. He was still in the clothes from the day. “Sam asleep?”

“Yeah,” Tony replied. He rubbed at his forehead and took his glasses off, tossing them and the tablet on the table next to him. “How’s your guy?”

“He was upset when I left,” Steve said, “In pain, too. They’d miscalculated how long the dosages would last. Our metabolisms are kind of complicated like that.”

“That’s rough,” Tony said, surprisingly serious about it.

“Yeah,” Steve shrugged, fixing a long look at Tony’s face. He flopped back onto the couch next to Tony and threw his arms along the back of it.

“Sam-” Tony hesitated. “Sam talked to me.”

Steve was silent, but he turned to look at Tony. Tony was pouring more scotch into his glass and some into a second one. The full bottle had come with the room that morning, and only a quarter was left. He handed the second glass to Steve.

“I can’t get drunk.”

“Humor me.”

“Alright.”

They sipped a little in silence. The scotch was good and smoky, and Steve found himself wishing he had a cigarette or a cigar for the first time in a while. It had been a hell of a day, after all. Tony let his head fall back against Steve’s arm after a minute and rolled it to look over at him, his hair tickling at Steve’s injuries. His eyes were a little unfocused, but still fiercely intelligent, boring through Steve’s skull. Steve briefly flashed back to a few nights he’d spent with Howard and Peggy playing drunk Blind Man’s Bluff.

“I’m sorry I teased you.”

“Wha- Tony-”

“Nuh, no no,” Tony held up a hand. “I can only apologize when I’m. Pretty drunk. You’re pretty when I’m drunk.”

“Tony.”

“Sorry. See? But- I mean that, I didn’t know that you cried. I suck. You didn’t have a tizzy.”

“It’s fine,” Steve snapped, a little meaner than he meant it. Sam sucked. "I kinda did, though."

Tony’s head lolled back on Steve’s arm to stare at the ceiling and he blew out a raspberry. “You and your guy were really close back in the day, huh?” he said after so long Steve had wondered if he dozed off.

“Well, yeah,” Steve shifted uncomfortably.

“Like  _really_  close?”

“Yes? I mean, I’ve known him since we were four or something. Did you and Sam talk about  _this_  too?”

“No, no- well-kinda, never mind about that,” he waved a hand dismissively. “Sam just got me… thinking. What… what was he? Your guy? To you?”

“My gu- Bucky was… well, is…” Steve swallowed, “Even when I had nothing, before I was this,” he gestured down his torso, “I had him.” Tony nodded with a hum.

“My dad used to tell me stories about you, as you know. Barnes was in ‘em, too, dunno if I ever mentioned that. He talked about Peggy, too, and the Commandos. All of ‘em. He said that he’d never seen anyone look at anyone like you and Barnes looked at each other. He said it made Peggy jealous, since she was in your compass and all and you never looked at her anything like it. He got poetic, then I stopped listening. Bleh.”

He picked his head up and took a long, thirsty gulp of his drink before crossing his legs. Steve was still staring at him, not quite sure how to reply to that. Not quite sure what Tony was getting at. Tony sighed deeply and stared down into his glass with a furrowed brow, swirling the last sip or two around.

“I didn’t know what he meant until I saw you two together after he got his noggin put together a bit. A few months ago at Christmas, at your dinner. He’s not the Barnes my dad talked about, but he’s not  _not_  that Barnes either. He looks at you like… like,” Tony took another drink, finishing the glass with a grunt. He was quiet for a long stretch as he thought. “Your guy looks at you like I want Pepper to look at me. When we get married-  _If_  we get married. Or now. She’s really great.”

Steve was stunned into silence. Tony had obviously figured it out, but he wasn’t coming right out and saying it. Steve toed out of his sneakers and socks and kicked them away so he wouldn’t have to look over at his friend. When he was peeling off the second sock, something came to him.

“Tony… why do you only call him ‘my guy’?”

“Because- well. Because dad called him that, I guess. ‘Cap’s best guy’. Same reason I call Pepper ‘my lady’. I dunno what else to call it so I use dad’s lingo. I’m not good at labels. Or feelings. That’s why I got drunk to apologize to you.”

Silence fell again and Steve felt his hands begin to shake. He put his glass down on the coffee table in front of them, glass rattling on glass for a moment, and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. His breath was shaky. Tony leaned forward too, reaching for the bottle of scotch. He thought better of it and fidgeted with his empty glass instead.

“Was it tough? In the forties?” he asked quietly after a moment.

“Yes,” Steve cleared his throat, which he found was very dry suddenly. “Very.”

“Is it… tough now?” Tony asked. His eyes were earnest and almost gloomy when Steve turned to look at him. He wondered if Tony would even remember this conversation in the morning.

“I don’t think he remembers… that. He hasn’t seemed to at least.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re drunk.”

“That, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> I bawled my freakin' eyes out I'm not going to lie to you. Like 3 times.
> 
> P.S.  
> If anyone wants a timeline these stories are happening on, ask me. Aaaand basically just ask me if you have any other questions/ criticisms ok? I mean, I hardcore do my research but I'm known to slip up sometimes.


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